


no place i'd rather be

by itsthechocopuff



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Character Death Fix, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Panic Attacks, Paul x Emotions? In my fic? It's more likely than you think, Sad with a Happy Ending, because Hugh Culber deserved better, because i can't write actual sad fics to save my life, canon-compliant until the end of s1ep15, fight me, gays in space, he can damn well use it to bring his husband back to life, if Paul can navigate a net of mushrooms in space and use it to jump thousands of miles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 10:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15216890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsthechocopuff/pseuds/itsthechocopuff
Summary: 'What is dead, stays dead'. It seems obvious, one of life's few unquestionable truths, a dogma even in a world of aliens and space exploration, and one which Hugh is well aware of.But he should've realised Paul would find a way around it; after all, his lover had stopped believing in the word 'impossible' before they'd even met.Why should this time be any different?





	no place i'd rather be

**Author's Note:**

> new fandom, who dis?
> 
> so i finished my star trek: discovery binge last week and sweet lord. so beautiful. so precious. much love.  
> buuuuut #notamused with the kill-your-gays trope sooo FIC! 
> 
> this is shamelessly self-indulgent but i have Theories as for bringing Hugh back so hmu if u have an issue with infodumping being left out of the main text. 
> 
> thank u @ all the content creators in this fandom for inspiring this! y'all the real MVPs!

With the force not unlike a rubber band snapping back into place after being stretched for too long, Hugh feels his spirit sink back into his body.

He takes a shuddering breath. The action in itself is not unusual.

What _is_ unusual, however, is the fact that he is _convinced_ he should no longer be _capable_ of it.

He _remembers_ having his neck snapped, remembers _dying_ and _being dead._ He remembers guiding Paul back home when his partner was lost in the mycelium network, and now–!

Now, he twitches a finger and takes another breath, and a shrill sound cuts through the blissful silence.

“Oh my god-! Lieutenant Stamets-! I mean- Lieutenant Commander Stamets! Ah, sorry I-!”

Hugh fights a wince, but then another voice joins in, and _oh._

“What is it, Ensign?” Paul, his glorious, precious, _alive_ Paul asks, and Hugh almost manages to pry his eyes open just for that.

“He moved! And breathed! Look!” there’s a commotion, and a moment of silence as Hugh dutifully takes another breath, and then there’s a stifled sob, a soft _thump_ , and a clammy hand takes his own.

“Hugh?” the _pain_ and sheer, agonised hope in Paul’s voice make Hugh’s suddenly-beating heart _twist._ “Hugh, can you hear me?”

Hugh wants to speak, wants to say something, but when he forces his lips to part and takes a breath, it catches in his throat and he coughs. He feels whatever he’s lying on shift upwards until he’s almost sitting up, and a glass is pressed to his chapped lips and then cool, soothing liquid is poured into his mouth and down his throat.

At last, he pries his eyes open, and _oh indeed._

He sees Tilly first; she seems to be vibrating with nervous energy and she _chirps_ excitedly when they make eye-contact then scurries out of the room, and Hugh’s gaze shifts-

-and lands on Paul.

_Paul._

Hugh’s no stranger to seeing his partner overworking himself. He’s used to bags under bright blue eyes, used to pale skin looking almost translucent, used to well-groomed blond hair turning messy after too many stressed hands running through it.

But he’s never seen this.

Paul stands before him, paler than death, the bags under his eyes bruise-black, his hair not unlike a bird’s nest, and Hugh’s pretty sure he can see his partner’s _ribs_ through the thin shirt he’s wearing. His doctor-brain is a few seconds slower waking up, but once it’s online, he quickly registers the symptoms and their products; _sleep deprivation, malnutrition, hypovitaminosis D–_! He’s prevented from ‘doctoring’ further when Paul lets out another sob and wraps his arms around him, burying his face in Hugh’s shoulder.

Hugh freezes.

Paul is… not prone to public displays of affection. _Especially_ in the workplace, he adds mentally, when he finally realises that they’re in Sickbay.

Or he wasn’t, at least.

But his hands rise automatically, though sluggishly, to soothe his partner. He intends to card his fingers through Paul’s hair, but he notes belatedly that his motor functions seem to be somewhat inhibited. He settles for laying a hand on Paul’s head instead and rubs his side with the other.

It’s then that he tunes into the reverent, hysterical babble by his ear.

“-love you, I can’t believe you’re back, I missed you so much, I’m so sorry, I never meant for that to- to- you were supposed to be _safe_ but he- I held your body in my arms and _stars,_ Hugh, I wanted to _follow you_ -!”

And that- no.

Hugh moves, slowly because he’s _not an idiot_ and he _shouldn’t technically be alive,_ gets a hand on either side of Paul’s face and carefully pulls his partner away from his shoulder so he can look at him.

Paul is beautiful.

His eyes are red-rimmed and his nose is running and his cheeks are stained with tears and splotchy, the red impossible to hide with his pale skin, and he is the single most stunning being Hugh has ever seen, entire galaxies and supernovae be damned.

“Hey.” He manages, and it’s quiet and soft and apparently anticlimactic because Paul snorts through the tears.

“I bring you back from the jaws of death and that’s all you can say? ‘Hey’?” he mumbles, and it’s an attempt at his old snark, Hugh knows, but it is undermined by the tear that spills out immediately after, which Hugh brushes away with his thumb.

“Sorry.” He smiles, can’t _not_ , because he _loves_ this crazy, brilliant man. “Let me make it up to you.”

Hugh uses the grip he still has on his lover’s face and pulls Paul down, presses a chaste, gentle kiss to his lips. He moves to pull away, mindful of the fact that for all that it seems abandoned, they’re still in Sickbay, and Paul is bound to snap out of his happy daze and remember that he’d not one for PDA soon. But his partner proves him wrong once again.

The second Hugh tries to move away, Paul lets out a wounded sound and moves closer, goes in for another kiss, this one far rougher, more desperate. Hugh moves to accommodate, because for all that it’s unexpected, kissing Paul is familiar, and he lets himself _remember_. Their mouths move together, find a rhythm that’s a touch slower than the desperate lunge Paul had initiated but still deeper, hungrier than their usual kisses. It’s all tongues and teeth and laboured breaths and Hugh gets the impression Paul is trying to map every inch of his mouth and burrow himself into his hold.

Paul tastes of salty tears and coppery blood and the herbal tang of the green tea Hugh used to favour and he used to abhor, and it’s unfamiliar and yet.

And yet Hugh could spend the rest of his days in Paul’s embrace, and he would be happy.

They pull away, reluctant, but air is still a necessity, and though he’d been _dead, he’s sure of it,_ it’s Hugh who recovers first.

“Have you been sleeping at all when I was- gone?” he asks, frowns.

He’s proud that he only stumbles once, but Paul still sighs and adopts the same exasperated, _I-don’t-have-time-for-this_ expression he always dons when Hugh is ‘doctoring’. When he replies, it’s closer to his usual scathing, dry as a desert tone;

“I’ve found sleep to be… unessential to stopping an intergalactic war.”

Hugh knows there’s something there he’s missing, and he’s trying to ignore the steadily mounting panic at somehow _being brought back to life_ so he clings to the only other emotion that registers through the joy and the confusion and the relief: _annoyance_.

Paul’s lack of the most basic self-preservation has always been a point of contention between them, after all.

“Wow,” he says, and he knows it’s sharper than his partner deserves, but it’s either that or he has a panic attack in the middle of Sickbay, “you’ve never been one to be so blatant in your evasions.”

He feels Paul recoil slightly, and Hugh’s hands fall from his partner’s face when the blond scowls.

“And you’ve never been one to ask questions you already know the answers for, _dear doctor_.” He snaps, and while it’s harsh, it’s also a far cry from his usual cutting ripostes, and something in Hugh freezes.

They stare at each other for a few seconds in the silence that reigns, and then Paul’s nose scrunches up and his bottom lip trembles slightly and he turns away, but Hugh reaches out, catches his wrist.

“Hey.” He tries again, knows he had miss-stepped. He strokes his thumb over the soft skin of Paul’s inner wrist, and when his lover glances back at him, he smiles apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

He takes a deep breath, thinks _honesty,_ because that’s been the foundation of their relationship from the start, and exhales. “I just… You did something impossible for me, Paul, and I-” Hugh hisses out a frustrated breath and tries to regroup. He shuffles over on the small cot and pats the spot beside him with his free hand, and Paul huffs a laugh but surprisingly obeys and climbs onto the bed.

Hugh is not prepared for his partner to settle down fully and rest his head on his chest, but he’s not about to complain. He lays his hand on Paul’s neck, scratches at the soft hairs at his nape and starts again.

“You remember every single one of Mudd’s loops.” He states, feels Paul tense against him at the reminder, but powers through. “Well, I remember being dead. Going from firmly-dead to…not, was a bit stressful. I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

“I’m sorry for crowding you.” Paul mumbles in response, and his arm tightens around Hugh’s waist. “But- I _lost you_ , Hugh. I’ll admit to forgetting professionalism and boundaries when I suddenly had you back.”

“You’ll have to tell me how you managed that at some point, by the way.” Hugh says around a yawn. “But for now, sleep with me.”

Paul snorts, and his shoulders shake with laughter, and Hugh rolls his eyes once he realises _why._ Still, he doesn’t fight the grin that pulls at his lips, and merely wraps his arms tighter around his partner. They can get to the nitty-gritty bits of defying death later. For now, both he and Paul can take a nap. Lorca can kiss his ass, and he’s sure Paul shares that sentiment.

* * *

Later, once he’s awake and discharged and Paul is not around, Hugh seeks out Tilly and Burnham and more or less demands to be brought up to speed.

What he learns is… hard to believe.

Lorca is _dead,_ Tyler was a Klingon, there are apparently infinite mirror universes, they won the war, and his lover apparently threatened all the remaining Federation Admirals to bring Hugh back to life.

“Lieutenant Commander Stamets’ physical and mental health had been… steadily deteriorating, once we got to Earth.” Burnham tells him, and the look on Tilly’s face confirms it. “He wasn’t coping well. Refused to let himself go through the grief stages. Wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep. We were all worried, trying to help him, but he wouldn’t listen. Then Sarek told me that the day before Discovery was meant to head for Vulcan, he barged in on the Admirals and presented them with an ultimatum.”

“Either they let him try and bring you back, or he’d delete all of his research and data and-and theories off of the servers and send the Federation back into the Dark Ages of solely warp drive!” Tilly cuts in, and the excitement and reverence in her voice tells him exactly what she thought of Paul’s stunt. “Nobody else knows mycelium like he does, and the Federation has yet to find another Tardigrade, and even then, eugenics experiments are still outlawed!”

“Admiral Cornwell caved.” Burnham informs him, and the look in her eyes is measured, but there’s respect there as well. Respect for Paul, where before there’d been disdain and exasperation, and Hugh wonders just _how_ Paul’s notorious insubordination managed to win over their _Vulcan_ crewmate. “She delayed the mission for Vulcan and reinstated Discovery as what it had originally been – a science vessel.” And then, while Hugh’s reeling with the news that they’d no longer be required to be at the frontlines of a war, the corner of her lips twitches up and she adds; “And, just an FYI – ‘officially’, you were never dead. Just comatose. So, I’m happy to see you out of your coma, Doctor Culber. We’ve missed you.”

Tilly echoes the sentiment, darts in for a quick hug, and then the two women take their leave of him, leaving him alone in the corridor.

It takes him a few minutes of standing there like an idiot before his brain switches back on and directs his body to their room.

The shower’s running once he arrives, and Hugh changes out of the clothes he’d been handed after he was discharged and into pyjamas while he waits for Paul to finish. He notes how his side of the bed is untouched, the sheets perfectly straight and sans a single wrinkle, and something in his heart twists. He settles down, rumples the perfect bedding and grabs Paul’s PADD, shuffling through the files until he finds their copy of _Lord of the Rings,_ and waits.

Paul shuffles out of the bathroom a few minutes later, and he’s still pale, the bags under his eyes are still there, and the pyjamas hang on him far too loosely for Hugh’s taste, but there’s life in his eyes now, an unbridled joy when he spots Hugh and makes his way over.

Hugh smiles and puts the PADD aside, then scoots up so he’s sitting with his back propped up against the headboard. Paul climbs onto the bed and melts into the embrace, lets himself be pulled into Hugh’s chest and Hugh feels the last of the tension leave his partner’s body.

“I missed this.” Paul says a few minutes later, a propos nothing, and shifts back a little to be able to look at Hugh comfortably.

“Me too.” Hugh agrees easily. He raises a hand and strokes Paul’s cheek, runs his hand down his jaw and to his neck, leaves it there. “Thank you for bringing me back. For letting me have more of _this_ -” he waves his other hand around them, gestures at Paul and their position and the peaceful atmosphere. “-and for threatening the Admirals for me.”

Paul tenses but chuckles, pulls Hugh’s hand from his neck and kisses his knuckles. “You’ve been caught up.” He says, and Hugh smiles, nods.

“I have. Pretty much bullied Burnham and Tilly to tell me what I missed.”

Paul huffs a laugh and pulls Hugh’s hand into his lap. “Do you know what my biggest regret was?” he asks out of nowhere and Hugh makes a curious sound and relaxes back against the pillows, waiting.

“Y’know, beside not immediately being suspicious of a man who ‘survived’ seven months in Klingon captivity.” Paul adds, and there’s a hint of bitterness, of guilt in his voice, and Hugh smooths his thumb over his lover’s knuckles, tries for comfort without interrupting ‘honesty hour’ too much.

“I regretted not telling you I loved you often enough.” Paul says, and when he looks at Hugh, there’s so much love and pain in his eyes Hugh’s breath catches in his throat. “I regretted not getting to go to that showing of _La bohème._ ” Paul smiles, and it’s brittle and wry, but the hand he lifts to Hugh’s cheek is soft, warm, the touch gentle. “But most of all, I regretted not asking you to marry me.”

Hugh forgets how to breathe.

“I would like to make up for that, right now.” Paul tells him, and he seems unaware of just how much his confession is affecting Hugh. “I love you, Hugh Culber. I would like to spend the rest of my days by your side, if you’ll have me. Would you do me the honour of marrying me?”

Hugh melts.

He shifts, gets half on-top of Paul, and kisses him, hard and deep and with all the _yeses_ he can while his brain tries to get back on line. When they separate, he rests his forehead against Paul’s and smiles, and everything feels _right_ for the first time since he woke up in Sickbay.

“Yes. Always yes. Each and every time and in every single universe. I love you too, Paul Stamets, I always have. I would love to be your husband.”

And the smile that lights up Paul’s face at his answer is brighter than any star.

(it’s not all perfect – some days, Hugh wakes up in cold sweat, remembers the void and drifting and the feeling of having his neck snapped. Other days, Paul wakes up choking on a scream as he remembers watching everyone die around him over and over again. But they get through it, _together,_ and that’s the most important thing, and Hugh knows with every fibre of his being that there’s no place he’d rather be.)


End file.
